The Meat Pie Shop
by VioletEnvy
Summary: Sequel to my one-shot Blood Stains. Johanna is compeltely OOC, to allow this story to happen at all. Johanna and Toby convince Anthony to keep running Mrs. Lovett's meat pie shop, despite the bloody history the place holdsv


I turn suddenly to look at the door of the room as a boy enters. A heavy feeling still tugs at my belly, hazing my thoughts, but I manage to recognize him as the boy Judge Turpin had sent to rescue me earlier. I want to tell him our master is dead, and that there is nowhere left to go now.

"He is-," I attempt, but my voice cracks and feels unfamiliar in my throat. "Judge Turpin is dead. It's over."

I try to convey through words all the despair in having no more family whatever, but fail miserably. I feel tears brimming from my eyes, ready to fall, and lower my head in anguish.

"Oh, Johanna!" he exclaims, as much emotion filling his voice as sadness fills my eyes. Unexpectedly, though, he smiles widely, and embraces me. "We are free now!"

My body tenses at his embrace. I don't believe I have ever been hugged before; it is more intimate – and warmer – than it seems when you have only read about it in romance books.

"I haven't stopped thinking of you once, Johanna, ever since I saw you alone in your room," the boy starts rambling, still holding me tight. "You were so beautiful, so innocent! It tore my heart so when Judge Turpin told me to never look at you again; I would die if I never saw you again; I need you!"

My eyes narrow in suspicion. I must find a way to escape this boy; he is clearly a lunatic. I struggle mildly, so as not to alarm him, but he is wrapped quite tightly around me, burying his head on my shoulder.

"But you were taken away from me! It was my fault, I gave away our plans of escaping together to Judge Turpin and he sent you to that madhouse..." he groans the last few words. His manner of talking is curiously expressive, so much so that I almost forget to pay attention to his actual words.

"I still can't believe I managed to get you back, and now you tell me that bastard is dead!" he gasps, fitting too many words in a short breath. He sounds exhilarated, even though I can't see his face. He still clings to me, and it is becoming stifling.

The boy takes hold of my face and looks at me lovingly. I can finally breathe freely, but I stare at a fixed point a feet to the left of his head, processing a completely new train of thought.

'_...our plans of escaping together...'_

It is absurd, but the information he has given me – provided it is accurate – is making me understand what has happened these past days.

I had been ready to discard the boy's fairytale and make up some excuse to leave him, but the doubt that had been hanging around my mind was suddenly cleared: Judge Turpin sent me to a madhouse because he thought I planned to escape with a boy.

Judge Turpin hadn't intended to marry me to the boy at all. Who was he proposing I married when he came into my room, then? My thoughts whirr around me as I approach the only possibility... He never introduced me to any man. The only man I ever knew was him.

_He had loved me!_

If not, he intended to marry me, at the very least! A rush of warm giddiness rushes through me.

_He is dead, now._

I turn cold, halfway through imagining my life as Judge Turpin's wife.

_He was murdered. _

My eyes shift back to the boy before me. He is responsible for this whole misunderstanding, but he dares smile widely. He probably doesn't know what he has done.

"He was murdered," I voice my echoing thoughts.

"Murdered?" the boy whispers, his eyes widening. He lets go of my face and takes a step back. "By who?"

As I open my mouth to respond, my eyes drift to the open door.

He was _murdered_ by a man in bloody clothes, who left this room barely ten minutes ago. Who knows when he'll come back? I start panicking and my breathing becomes weirdly erratic.

"Hush, now, everything will be alright!" the boy tries to calm me. He holds me by my arms, kneeling before the chair I'm sitting in. "Blood!" he suddenly yelps, seeing the stains on the sleeve of my shirt and jumping back a few feet.

Still breathing irregularly, I look distractedly at where his gaze is settled, and shiver quite violently. My head is spinning with random pieces of information, until I take a strong hold of my own body and look determinedly at the boy.

"We must leave," I demand, with more strength than I had imagined I could muster. "He might be back any minute!"

The boy frowns slightly, maybe imagining who 'he' is. He nods his head in agreement, then, and extends a gentlemanly arm to help me up. Taking his arm, I get up, but my legs feel weak. The strain of the last few days seems to be taking its toll.

I manage to walk a few steps, still supporting myself on the boy's shoulder and on the fear of the madman who might return. I slowly approach the door, but I hear noises that sound like footsteps outside. Panic rises once more inside me, taking control of my breathing and making it irregular.

"No! No, he's back!" I cry, clutching at the boy beside me in desperation. I try to turn, because the chest in which I can hide is the only chance of survival. Before managing to run back into hiding, however, my legs fail me completely and my vision turns black.

***

I hear footsteps distinctly, once more, and the sound seems to drag me away from the sleepy stupor I was in. My heart manages a few flutters of fear, but I can notice clearly that I am in a new room, not the one in which madness had ensued earlier on.

Despite being in an unknown room, I feel fairly comfortable. I am wrapped in soft, warm sheets, almost reminiscent of my own in Judge Turpin's home. The mattress I lie in, to my relief, is not at all like the madhouse's cold slab of stone.

My head swings to the door. The sound of footsteps comes from outside it, but after getting louder, it becomes fainter once more. I feel relatively safe here, but I must check the door. I walk over to it, and try the doorknob, relief washing over me as I see the door is locked.

This is a more familiar situation for me: being locked in. This room is a safe place now, because only the one who locked the door can get in. No random threats will barge in, only my incarcerator. No incarcerator would harm the one he locked safely in, it would be contradictory.

Making my way to the mirror on the wall, I wonder who locked the door. It does not matter really, and looking in the mirror I find what I see in it a more worrisome subject. My hair is still tied in a taught bun, and my face is as dirty as a rag cloth. My clothes are still boyish, and so is my overall appearance.

Gasping, I run to the water basin and rub at my face until it feels raw. I untie my hair and try to comb it with my fingers, but my once soft locks have become unmanageable with the recent grease it has accumulated.

I sigh in disgust and sit on the bed, avoiding the mirror so as not to fall into greater misery. All I ever had for myself, being a female orphan with no money, was my looks. Taking away the fairness of a lady is taking away the few chances she has at a decent life.

The lock on the door clicks suddenly, and I start. I refrain from covering myself up in embarrassment, because I know no amount of time will improve my appearance unless I bathe.

Through the door comes in the boy who has become familiar to me, and I feel slightly disappointed, for I was hoping my safe keeper would be an actual man.

"Johanna, you are up!" he exclaims, in his usual excess of emotion. "I hope you don't mind, I brought Toby along! I was looking for Mr. Todd when I found Toby in the cellar, grinding meat all alone. He didn't want to leave, but I insisted he come here with me. Toby, this is Johanna."

I look around and see a young boy sulking near the open doorway. His blond hair is matted down and he looks haggard. He must not have a mother, and this must be taking a toll on him, the poor creature.

"Toby?" I whisper softly, but he doesn't seem to hear me. I get up slowly and walk to the boy, kneeling beside him and stroking his cheek. "Toby, I'm Johanna. Why were you alone in the cellar?"

"I wasn't alone," he answered, not looking at me but at a spot on the nearby wall. "Mrs. Lovett is still there, but the boy won't let me help her."

"I've asked you to call me Anthony!"

"Anthony," I say, finally having found out his name, "be nice to Toby! Don't you worry, Toby, we'll help Mrs. Lovett."

I stroke Toby's chin and he looks at me, his brown eyes tired but hopeful. "She's in the oven; we have to take her out quick."

"Yes," I start saying, but catch myself as I understand what he's just said, "No!"

"What?" Toby asks. "I know it's hot in the oven, but you'll help me get her out, won't you?"

"Oh, Toby, honey! I'm afraid there's no helping her if she's fallen into the oven!"

"I've told him that, you know," Anthony says, but he refrains from saying anything else after receiving icy glares from both Toby and me.

Toby looks back at me pouting and I can see tears brimming in his sweet eyes. I hug him tightly telling him it will be all right, in the end.

"Come, Toby, rest," I whisper, pulling him up in my arms despite his weight and laying him on the bed. He soon falls asleep, his expression becoming peaceful; I can't help thinking how much more peaceful it would be if he were dead.

"I'm glad you got along with him, Johanna, but I'm afraid he's a bit mad," Anthony says, uncertainly.

I turn to him and shrug, "You are overreacting."

"Maybe I am," he admits, and pauses for a minute, looking at his hands. "I have to find Mr. Todd and tell him about this. Mrs. Lovett and Judge Turpin are both dead; something bad has happened."

"Actually, I heard Beadle and another woman being murdered, too."

"What?" he gasps, shooting a glance at Toby to see if he has woken up. "You didn't tell me this before!"

"I didn't think it mattered."

It is normal for people to die. What is unnatural is to rip my only love from me before I got the chance to apologize to him for behaving waywardly. It is normal for people to be murdered, but my Judge Turpin should still be with me.

"Johanna! It does matter! Something might've happened to Mr. Todd!" he shouts.

I frown. Mr. Todd has absolutely nothing to do with me, why should I care? "Who is Mr. Todd?"

"Mr. Todd," says Toby, who is now sitting on the bed, awake, "is dead."

"Well, see, Anthony, you've woken the boy up!" I reproach him for shouting.

Anthony ignores me completely and looks at Toby wide-eyed. "Dead? Him, too?"

Toby sways his head from one side to the other, as if enjoying good music, and says, "Yes, him, too. He pushed Mrs. Lovett into the oven, so he had to die."

"He killed Mrs. Lovett?" Anthony gasps. "Why?"

"He killed my old master Pirelli, too."

"But why?"

"And probably all the people on the meat grinder," Toby goes on, still swaying his head, oblivious to Anthony.

"Meat grinder?" Anthony echoes. His sentences have become quite short and direct for someone who used to ramble pointlessly. "The meat pie shop meat grinder?"

"Well, obviously," I respond, exasperated.

"Johanna!" he gasps once more. He looks at me as if he is seeing an apparition. "Do you realize this means the meat pies were made of human flesh?"

"Yes, and that actually explains how so many murdered corpses just disappeared," I answer. "I heard three murders while on the second floor of the meat pie shop, but I saw no corpses whatever."

"I refuse to believe Mr. Todd would do anything of that sort! He was an honest barber, a good man!" he says, with true determination.

Toby stops swaying his head and looks at Anthony with narrowed eyes. "Mr. Todd killed Mrs. Lovett."

"Mr. Todd was probably who killed Judge Turpin, too," I say, acidly. I can accept someone using humans to make pies, especially if the pies turn out good, but I won't accept someone murdering my beloved guardian.

Anthony lowers his head and scratches his head. He looks confused, but there is no way he can continue thinking Mr. Todd was a good man.

"We should contact the police, then," he says.

"No!" Toby shouts, "They would close down the shop! Mrs. Lovett worked there all her life; I can't let it be closed down!"

"Well, then, maybe," I say, weighing options in my head, "_we_ could run the shop instead."

"What?" Anthony says, extending his hands out comically and shaking his head.

"This room has one bed; do you suggest all three of us share it?" I ask, making Anthony blush. "The shop must have at least two rooms, and it can provide income."

"I'm not leaving the shop," Toby repeats to himself.

"Don't worry, honey, we'll take care of the shop. What was the second floor for, Anthony?"

"Mr. Todd was a barber."

That explains the razorblade. I shiver slightly as I remember my guardian's blood gleaming off the blade. "We can use it as a spare room."

"I can't make meat pies. I'm just a sailor, really," Anthony tries to dissuade me, but this is undoubtedly the best option for the three of us.

"I'm sure Toby knows how to make meat pies," I answer, looking at the young boy on the bed. I walk towards him and sit beside him, wrapping one arm around him.

"Mrs. Lovett taught me. I am a meat pie maker, and a barber. Mr. Pirelli taught me that. Yes, I'm a barber, but not like Mr. Todd."

"There you go, Anthony," I say, but he doesn't look relieved at what Toby said.

"What if the police come asking about the missing people?"

"We could say Mrs. Lovett sent Mr. Todd away and left with her husband, leaving the shop with Toby and his brother. I'll assume the role of Toby's brother, so that I won't be associated with Judge Turpin."

The idea of being a boy is interesting to me, now that I have no man to care for me. I can be my own man, with no interference. I can be the locker of rooms, instead of the one locked in them.

"Mrs. Lovett was a widow, Johanna."

"Well, that's even better. We'll tell the police that she and Mr. Todd eloped!"

Toby doesn't look happy with what I'm saying, but the loss of Mrs. Lovett is probably fresh in his mind. Anthony is tense, and I'm sure he's straining himself to find flaws in my plans, even though there really aren't any.

"I think we should get going right away. We need to be ready for the day tomorrow, so as not to arise suspicion," I insist.

Anthony agrees reluctantly, and the three of us leave the inn after paying for the room, heading for the meat pie shop around the corner. It looks a tad run down, but I get a good feeling from it.

This meat pie shop represents my new life; a life in which, because I'm not a lady, I can take care of myself. Moreover, I'll become responsible for running a business and raising a child barely five years younger than I am. After losing the precious elements of my life, I can now start building a life that belongs entirely to me.


End file.
